


A Little Bit Every Day

by gazeboarcade



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Autistic Geralt, Camping, Communication, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, M/M, One Shot, Roach is here too, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, by the fire, god help the boy, under the stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:08:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22602223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gazeboarcade/pseuds/gazeboarcade
Summary: Sometimes Geralt has a hard time talking about his feelings. After all, Witchers aren't even supposed to have feelings, right?(title from That's How You Know from the movie Enchanted)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 40
Kudos: 460





	A Little Bit Every Day

Everyone knew Geralt was quiet. He rarely spoke more than what was necessary. In his line of work, this was a skill that came in handy. Words could dig someone into a deep hole. Start fights, garner unwanted attention, be used against you… countless opportunities for fallout. Or, even worse, lead to someone having just another reason to hate you for something innocuous. 

So, Geralt was quiet. Sometimes, this was misconstrued. People would assume he didn’t care what others had to say, didn't care enough to talk… the same silence that protected him was just another mark for him to be branded a freak. Like many other beliefs held about the witcher, this was also incorrect. With his heightened senses, he would frequently watch people talk around him, listening to their conversations. He would pay attention when he was spoken to, even if he wasn’t making eye contact with them. Geralt had a thorough understanding of the power of words. 

He wasn’t above everyone, in his silence. He occasionally would blurt out something cruel in the heat of the moment or desperately say something too close to the truth of how he felt. His own words could be like daggers, and his shield could slip. He was just like anyone else in this. On his long voyages out in the wilderness on contract or travel, he would mumble to Roach about how strange the world could be or how cruel townsfolk were to their own brothers and sisters… how hard it was to understand, how futile it all was. 

Somewhere in his silence, maybe, or just by nature, he would struggle to say what he was actually feeling sometimes. It’s easier to call a farmer he met in town a jackarse for beating his wife, harder to explain he was mad because he couldn’t save her in before he beat her one too many times. Other times, he knew he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words. More often than not, he would just gaze longingly, trying to pull together the words he so desperately wanted to say. Words seemed to come easy to Jaskier. Sometimes even too many words. He had the power to win hearts and minds with his rousing ballads based around the adventures he and Geralt had shared. He had the power to bring tears to one’s eyes with his softer, more loving songs and excite with his old fashioned drinking songs. Even when he wasn’t singing, he had a plethora of words ready to bubble out of his mouth at any given moment. He would frequently get himself into trouble by running his mouth and sassing the wrong person, occasionally dragging Geralt into it with him. Despite this, he also could be incomprehensibly kind. 

Geralt pretended to be unaffected by Jaskier’s softness. When he would be praised for a particularly badass fight, Geralt would, at the most, smile slightly. The truth of the matter was he didn’t know how to respond to such kindness, such adoration. This isn’t to say it wasn’t mutual. On nights like these, he would sit in silence, chewing on the inside of his lip or averting eye contact as he lay on his back, head gingerly placed in Jasker’s lap (by the bard’s suggestion, he may add). Jaskier was lightly humming. Some new melody, Geralt had never heard from him before. However, it wasn’t new that he wouldn’t recognize a song Jaskier made, as he was constantly coming up with new ones. 

Geralt took the opportunity to steal a peek at Jaskier from the corner of his eye. His head was tilted back slightly, looking at the stars. Jaskier absentmindedly twirled a lock of Geralt’s hair between his fingers. Geralt looked away. Something about this moment felt painfully tender. He gazed into the fire. He stared at it until it hurt his eyes before glancing away again, scanning the perimeter of their little camp. Witchers weren’t meant to have feelings, they were meant to fight, defend, attack, kill, destroy, and come out swinging on the other side of it all. They were machines. And someone like that couldn’t feel, right? No, no they couldn’t. Right? Geralt let out an irritated sigh, sounding a bit more like a huff. His eyebrows were knit together. Jaskier stopped humming. 

“Something wrong?” He asked, scanning the perimeter as well. Did Geralt notice a danger he hadn’t, with those heightened senses of his? 

“Nothing,” Geralt answered, all too quickly. He cursed himself for it. Should’ve said it slower. Or better yet, given a noncommittal shrug in response. Wouldn’t be pressed had he done that. 

“Nothing?” 

“Mmm.” Geralt sat up, separating himself from Jaskier and staring at the fire again. Jaskier squinted inquisitively. Geralt must honestly think he’s blind. He noted the small wrinkle between the Witcher’s brow and the way his jaw was set. 

“You sure about that?” He tried again. Nothing. Geralt just kept staring at the fire. “Okay, sure. I’ll bet. With that face? No way.” He grinned. Geralt huffed again, indignant. He stood up and walked over to Roach, fidgeting with her saddle bag, pretending to check if it was closed correctly, before glancing back to Jaskier. He wanted to tell him his thoughts. He wished Jaskier could just know them, instead. Save him the trouble of trying to string together a sentence to describe how he felt. 

“Oh, I get it. Walk off dramatically, fiddle with nothing. Very dramatic, Geralt.” Jaskier rolled his eyes, but didn’t get up from where he sat to follow Geralt. He desperately wanted to know what the other man was thinking. Had he done something wrong? No… Geralt was still upset though. Jaskier waited. He knew Geralt was thinking about something very hard. He knew from their time together that this usually meant there was something Geralt was trying to work out, whether it was something he wanted to say or something he wanted to do… just something. Never, in his life, did Jaskier so desperately wish to know what was on someone’s mind than with Geralt.  
How was he feeling? Tender. Warm. Like he wanted to go back over, put his head in Jaskier’s lap again and listen to him hum until he fell asleep. This was odd, because he’d slept under the stars with Jaskier timeless nights before. This wasn’t different. But he couldn’t think of how to say this. What were the right words? He opened his mouth, wanting to speak, but he had no words and closed it again. 

As if Jaskier saw through Geralt, he said, “What? C’mon, Geralt.”

“C’mon, what?” Geralt spit out, walking back toward Jaskier, arms tightly crossed. He was frowning. Not at Jaskier, however, but at the communication gap, at the words alluding him. 

“I know sometimes that it’s, well,” Jaskier craned his neck with a playful grimace, “hard, for you--” 

“Mmm,” Geralt hummed, ambiguously. Jaskier took that as confirmation. 

“Yes, okay, you can admit it. What upset you when you were lying here with me?” Geralt’s cat-like eyes widened for a moment, his irritation at himself halting. He didn’t want Jaskier to think it was his fault. 

“Don’t know. Not mad at you,” He attempted to explain, standing by the fire and looking down at Jaskier, who nodded. 

“Come sit by me,” He said, patting the ground next to him. Geralt hesitated, shifting his weight on his feet. Sitting meant admitting that he was holding something back, which would prolong this conversation. Somehow, Geralt was okay with that. He sighed, looking at Jaskier. “That’s right, c’mon.” Jaskier patted the spot by him again.  
Geralt sauntered over and sat next to him, leaving about a foot and a half between them. As soon as he was adjusted on the floor, he hated the space between them. But it was there as a bargaining chip. Tell Jaskier your ‘feelings’ and you can get close to him again. After a few moments of silence Jaskier cleared his throat. “Copper for your thoughts, my brooding hero?” 

Geralt huffed. Where to begin? How do you explain something like this? It makes his stomach twist and makes him want to turn away, the want he had. The want to lay with Jaskier until the sun came up. And liking it. This wasn’t different than the times before, but wanting to tell Jaskier how much he liked it was. This thought was too much and rendered him silent. 

“Please?” Jaskier said, softer this time. Geralt uncrossed his arm, putting one hand on the ground between them. Jaskier put his hand on top of his. 

“I like it,” Geralt blurted out. Silence. Each second passed like a decade, and he stared at the bard’s hand resting on his own. 

“What do you like?” Jaskier tilted his head, curiously looking at Geralt. He didn’t force eye contact, something Geralt always appreciated. 

“It,” He paused. “Sitting.” Geralt gestured at the space between them. 

“Sitting with me?” Jaskier said, grin spreading across his face like the sun coming up. Geralt couldn’t help but smile back slightly. 

“Yes. I like listening to you… make up songs. Like when you touch my hair, too.” Jaskier beamed. He loved when Geralt was open like this, nervously looking up at him through eyelashes, impossibly cute for a grown man. “It’s just good,” He concluded. Jaskier was sure he could detect just a hint of blush on Geralt’s cheekbones. 

“Well, you know what, Geralt?” He said, gently picking up the hand he had been resting his own on top of. 

“Hmm?” 

“I like it, too. Love it actually. Every moment I spend with you is wonderful to me, but it is these quiet moments, just between us, that I hold closest to my heart,” Jaskier declared. He ran his thumb over Geralt’s knuckles, scabbed with the evidence of a fight from earlier in the day. “It’s these moments that remind me why I sing, why I write songs, and the reason I love, Geralt,” He said, softer now. Jaskier pressed a kiss on Geralt’s scabbed knuckles. He pulled back, looking at Geralt, who returned his gaze and smiled lightly, again, softly sighing. 

“Save it for the ballads, bard,” He said, playfully pushing Jaskier’s shoulder. “Thank you,” Geralt added, quieter. 

“Oh, the ballads I sing for you, my sun, around whom I orbit.” Geralt chuckled, and it sounded like music to Jaskier, who melted in response. He leaned back on a log, gesturing to his lap. “If you like it so much, let’s get back to it, hmm?” Geralt nodded, shifting to rest his head on Jaskier’s thigh. The bard’s familiar scent-- a natural musk from their adventure that did not quite overpower something softer, a gentle wild flower-- filled his nose again, and his muscles relaxed instantly. Jaskier rested a hand on his chest. Geralt picked it up, slowly pulling it toward his own lips with loosely, so Jaskier could pull away if he wanted. He didn’t.

Geralt kissed Jaskier’s calloused fingertips, rough from years of playing the lute. Then, he moved the hand back onto his chest, feeling Jaskier’s other hand begin to card itself through his hair, undoing knots carefully. Geralt looked up at Jaskier, shamelessly, this time. Jaskier smiled down at him and then looked back toward the stars, twinkling above them. He did the same, sighing in comfort. Nothing has ever felt more natural, more comfortable than this, he thought. Jaskier began to hum again, soft and melodious. At that moment, everything felt peaceful, and Geralt felt safe. He closed his eyes. With Jaskier’s voice and the crackle of the fire as his lullaby, it was not long after that he fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first true and true fanfic I've written since 2017. I am super into the Witcher lately, and so this was born. Constructive criticism is welcome! If you want, you can also check me out on Tumblr @ historytea :)
> 
> A big ol' thank you to my best friend (@nonbinary-minecraft on Tumblr) and new friend (@transwitcher on Tumblr) for proofreading, my other best friend (@con.voluted on Instagram) for an outsider read, and my boyfriend for the period/canon fact checking. I'd be no where without my extra sets of eyes. <3


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